My Parents
by MagicWriterK
Summary: Question1.What do your parents look like? Harry Potter doesn't know. All he knows is his first-grade Parents' Day questionnaire assignment would be a lot easier if he had any memory of his deceased progenitors. He'll have to think hard to scrap up any idea of who 'Lily and James Potter' were. An endearing yet sad fic about innocent lil Harry trying to figure out who mum & dad were.


_**Just a short one-shot I found floating around my documents. I tried to make Harry as innocent and cute as possible, as he struggles to figure out who his parents were as people. It honestly made me kind of sad.**_

* * *

"Alright boys and girls, go ahead and fill out these Parents' Day papers I'm handing out to you."

The teacher smiled brilliantly at the children as she gently placed a single sheet of paper on each of their diminutive wooden desks. A hum of chatter gradually filled the classroom as the students began to discuss their answers to their friends.

First-grader Harry Potter was left to stare blankly at the questions lining the page in front of him. What should he write? The Dursleys were certainly not his parents, and they made it clear this fact brought them comfort. But all the same, he had never known his true parents, who had died in a car crash when he was but one year old.

Harry struggled through the first few questions, wracking his brain for answers.

1\. What does your dad look like?

Harry had a faint memory of Aunt Petunia twisting her heavily-painted lips into a menacing sneer and telling him that his unruly hair was just like his 'blasted' father's. Another time, he had happened upon an old photo, covered in grime and obviously neglected, when he was sweeping the garage. In it was two similar little girls, both smiling up at the camera. Upon further inspection, he realized that one of the girls was his Aunt Petunia, albeit prettier, and with a much less sour expression. Perhaps, he concluded, the other girl with the fiery red hair and bright green eyes was his very own mother! He had held on to the photo for a long time, before Dudley saw it and squealed to his father, who stormed over and tore it up before Harry's horified eyes. He had held on to these memories, the only clue he had as to what his deceased parents appearences were, and now recorded them on the paper.

 **My mum has red hair and green eyes. My dad has hair like me.**

Satisfied, Harry turned to question 2.

2\. What do your parents like to do?

This was definitely harder. Harry wracked his brain for any more hints his aunt and uncle may have unconsciously dropped. After a solid six minutes, he finally managed to scrape a faint memory of something his aunt had muttered to herself while she thought Harry was not listening.

"...always on that blasted...thinks he's so athletic..."

Her voice came back to him in swatches, hardly enough for a coherent thought, but it was enough. And Harry added bit on the end that he inferred from a rant of Aunt Petunia's, in which she had complained to Uncle Vernon that her sister certaintly had smarts, but she squandered them in all the wrong places, Harry's father being one of them.

 **My dad likes to play sports. My mum likes to read.**

After all, smart people read, didn't they? Of course they did. On to the next question.

3\. Which of your parents are you most like?

Harry felt his nose scrunch up in complete frustration. How was he to know? He had never met them before, for goodness' sake! This assignment was making the first-grader right vexed indeed.

He pondered his options. He wasn't all that smart...he passed, but he was not exceptional. He was not all that athletic either, and being scrawny as a stick did not help. He wasn't entirely sure on his parents' appearances either, so that was nothing to go by. At a loss, he turned to their occupations. What had his aunt and uncle said his father was? A drug dealer and an addict? He wasn't quite sure what an addict was, but he knew drugs were bad.

But not so bad, he reasoned, because his father had dealt with him as his work. He kept that option on the sidelines.

His mother's job...now that was going to take some thinking. The Dursleys took sadistic pleasure from grating on Mr. Potter, but they did not talk much about Mrs. Potter. Harry was positive they had mentioned her line of work once...he willed his brain to call forth the correct memory.

Something with an 's'...or maybe an 'm'...Harry was very tempted to introduce his forehead to the table the hard way.

A memory bubbled to the surface. Once, in the secrecy of their room, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had discussed the Potters in hushed voices. Harry had dared to press his ear to the door, but his efforts were in vain. Only a handful of words had reached his ears.

 _"Magic...degrading...awful...magic...abnormal...horrible...shame..."_

Shame, awful, and horrible sounded bad, but Harry chalked it up to the Dursleys' intense dislike of the Potters. But magic sounded good...Harry had once sneaked a look at one of Dudley's TV programs. In it there was a man with an excellent purple cape covered in bright white stars, an elegant velvet hat perched delicately upon his head. He had shouted in a booming voice, and produced a small quivering rabbit from the depths of his magnificent hat. Harry's heart went out to the poor animal, but the feat astounded him all the same. Was that what magic was? Had Harry's mother been able to produce adorable mammals from fine headwear? Harry rather fancied the idea. It pleased him much more than the idea of drugs, whatever those were. He jotted down the delightful answer.

 **I am more like my mom because I am magic.**


End file.
